Category Archives: Infertility

The moment completely caught me off guard. I was sitting in a room full of 50 or so moms in a Manhattan church classroom.

I had known these women for only a few months and had already enjoyed getting to know them each. They came from different areas in the United States and abroad. They had different stories. But we were all united in the fact that here we were…moms of young kids doing our best to raise those littles in New York City.

Each meeting started the same: after a time of fellowship, we would all sit down and answer some sort of ice breaker question.

“Since all of us have been pregnant, why don’t you each give me your best pregnancy advice,” one of our group leaders (newly pregnant) said.

All of us have been pregnant?

And before I had much time to think of it, tears rushed to my eyes. As discreetly as possible, I looked at my phone with urgency and then left the room as if I had a phone call. Nobody thought anything of it.

It was more than 11 years ago that I had found out getting pregnant might be difficult. And for so long I yearned, I longed, I obsessed over that biological child.

But now, I had two beautiful children at home and had begun to rejoice and delight in the way God had written our story. If you’ve read anything I’ve written over the past few years, you know that I have experienced God’s incredible healing deeply in the midst of my brokenness.

And here I was crying over that infertility that I hadn’t given thought to in years.

But this time it wasn’t that I was crying over the lack of a biological child. I wasn’t weeping the same tears I had many years before.

No, these tears were new. But their source has been my constant companion: Barrenness.

Barrenness.

This morning I was reading Psalm 113 and I saw something I’d never noticed before

He settles the barren woman in her home as a happy mother of children. Praise the Lord. (Psalm 113:9)

I have become a mom in a very different kind of way. A way that runs straight into the brokenness of our world and embraces the redemption inside of it. A way that walks the tight rope of that brokenness almost every day.

A way that strangers around me have felt free to question. A way that not all of our family members have understood.

A way that has created a very different sort of woman than I was 12 years ago.

A way that, yes, sometimes makes me feel odd and misunderstood when surrounded by more “normal” moms.

And a way that asks me to embrace my brokenness instead of denying it and allow it to be used for the good of others. And, if I’m honest, that sometimes stings.

I cried that day not for the biological child I cannot have. No, I cried that day because I didn’t want to be defined by my barrenness. I wanted to exist outside of it. But, I’m beginning to think God is asking me to instead embrace it. Live in it.

When I walked back into the room that day, I chose not to share what I had just experienced. And I think that was a mistake. Over the last year this group has become a significant source of encouragement for me. Many of them have become dear friends. I should have trusted them then but the truth is, I didn’t want their pity.

But if I had it to do all over again, I’m thinking I should have stayed in my seat, and when it came to my turn (tears and all) simply said, “I’m Amy and I’ve never been pregnant. And I’m beginning to understand that maybe it’s a gift.”

God’s healing of our hearts began to happen long before we became parents. And it continues to teach me.

But, recently, I decided that I was done with judging the validity of my tears. If I’m going to cry, I might as well embrace it.

And, friends, I began to see some beauty in that brokenness. Being quick to tears isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

I began to see my tears as a gift.

This week I cried during worship.

I cried over a story from my son. I cried as my children snuggled on a hotel room bed and watched a cartoon. I cried when I saw pictures of devastating flooding in Louisiana. I cried when I hugged my Nana. I cried when I said goodbye to my brothers and when I saw my niece for the first time. I cried as Eliza screamed for almost an hour on a road trip. I cried as I looked with despair over the mounds of laundry and the mess in the living room. I cried when my son accidentally kicked my shin.

And, with each moment, I became more comfortable with my emotions. Because some of these moments were worth stopping to feel. Some of these tears drew my attention to a moment that needed to be savored.

Sure, many of them were silly. But, as I learn to see my excessive tears as a gift, I begin to see moments that I (probably) would have missed.

I’m hopeful to gain some sanity back with some new treatments. I’m already seeing more ability to regulate my emotions.

It will be nice to not break down in tears while reading a children’s book (with my son looking at me like I’ve gone insane!)

But, honestly, I’m not ready for the tears to totally go away. I don’t want them to disappear.

Now, before my friends and family start worrying about the future of the O’Briens, maybe I should back up.

When I came to college, I was determined to meet “the one.” I was on the lookout for the man God created for me. The man who would be my partner for life. The only one in the entire universe that I could be happy with. The one who had been formed and molded in his mother’s womb in order to someday be my husband.

But, after a few failed relationships I came crashing into the truth that there was one problem…

This man. This “one”…

Well, he didn’t exist.

I was dating Brandon at the time that I finally came to this realization. A few weeks after a very honest conversation with a professor, I said yes to Brandon’s proposal. And a breezy 11 months later (long engagements are the absolute WORST), we were married.

10 years later, I have never been more in love with my husband. I plan to be married to him for the rest of my life. I love the life we have created. I love our family. I love my partner.

But, I don’t believe that God created him just for me. I don’t think he is the one my whole life was leading to.

Brandon is just a man. He’s a very good man. A smart man. A creative and resourceful and caring and encouraging man. He’s loyal and honest and tender and compassionate. He is absolutely hilarious.

But he’s just a man.

I firmly believe that Brandon could have been happy with any woman he chose.

I believe I could have been happy with any man that I chose.

(assuming, of course, that they were equally committed to their faith)

We aren’t together because the universe wouldn’t have it any other way. We’re together, because we chose one another. We love God deeply, we are committed to serving Him our entire lives, and we see in one another the possibility of doing that together.

We fell in love and we love doing life together. God is active in our midst, in our home, in our family. But it’s not because this is the only way it could have been. No, it’s because this is just what God does. He takes two imperfect people who are committed to one another and he makes a family.

Okay, so now that I have that out of the way, I have something else I need to get off my chest.

I do not believe that my children were created in order to be my children.

We weren’t destined for one another.

And I can’t even count how many times people have said this to me.

Here’s my beef…

I do not believe that my God caused my children and their birth families pain in order to give me a child. Similarly, I don’t believe that God gave me infertility in order to teach me a lesson.

Instead, I believe that God brought something beautiful out of the pain. What a world marred by sin meant for bad, God used for good.

What a body devastated by brokenness couldn’t do…God did in a way that only he could do.

And here’s my point in all of this. I believe the beauty of our God is that He brings beauty out of ashes. He brings victory out of failure. He brings wholeness out of brokenness.

Our family is whole. But not because we were always intended for one another from the beginning.

No, I think this whole thing could have worked out very differently and still just as sweet.

In the past 8 years I have come to God with multiple requests. Many of them have been answered. I am married to a wonderful man who continually makes me better with his grace, humility, humor and kindness. I am mother to a son who has taught me to love in a way I never dreamed. He has helped me discover a fight I didn’t know I had. (My mother bear instinct is apparently very strong). My guys have given me more joy than I can explain. I laugh harder, sing louder, dance bigger and love more because of these two.

I am blessed with wonderful family. A father who has taught me so much. A mother who challenges me daily with her grace. Brothers who are my fierce protectors. Sister-in-laws who are such a joy to spend time with.

And I am blessed with in-laws who love me like I am their own. They have been gracious as Brandon and I figure out what “becoming one” really means. And they. love. my. son.

And for these I am thankful.

But I am a broken woman.

I am a barren woman.

There was a time that I couldn’t even say the word “barren” without tears. For years I refused to utter it. I wept and I plead for God to fulfill this deep desire. Adoption had always been in my heart. It was not a second choice or plan B. I had always dreamed and believed that it was one way that God would grow my family. I am thrilled that this is how I became a mom.

But I (like many women) always assumed and desired to bear a child. I expected and looked forward to being pregnant, giving birth, breast feeding. I eagerly anticipated having a child with red hair just like their daddy. Brandon hoped to have a child with green eyes just like me. We dreamed of our red headed children and our black haired African or Asian children running around together.

But this wasn’t how God chose to unfold our story.

Barrenness. I am barren.

And lately something has happened that I never expected. This word “barren” and the reality it represents have lost their sting. They have begun to taste sweet. I’ve begun to love this part of my story.

Why? Because it is here, in my brokenness, my barrenness, my failure and loss… it is here that I see my Father. It is here that I see salvation. It is here that I sense God’s presence.

Here, in this place, I am revived. And I’m not revived because God has fulfilled all of my earthly desires. I am revived because God has revealed himself. I am revived in His story.

I have spent the last few weeks reading through the book of John with a wonderful group of women over at If:Equip. And I was reminded of one of my favorite passages.

In John chapter 6 Jesus has just called himself the Bread of Life. And He has begun describing to those around him the sacrifice that is involved in following him. It was and is a hard teaching. Following this, the scripture says,

66 After this many of his disciples turned back and no longer walked with him. 67 So Jesus said to the Twelve, “Do you want to go away as well?” 68 Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, 69 and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God.” (John 6:66-69)

Friends, I am not a follower of Christ because He fulfills every single one of my dreams or requests. I do not follow him because He makes life easier.

I am a follower of Christ because I can’t imagine being anywhere else. Barrenness and all, I choose the Father.

In the last few months I have felt God’s healing. He didn’t suddenly make me able to bear a child. He made it sweet that I cannot. He has taken away my shame by revealing His goodness. In a lot of ways, I feel like my barrenness has let me in on a secret. A secret I don’t plan on keeping to myself.

I have seen how God’s redemptive story transforms. Not by making all the pain go away, but by resurrecting the dead. Not by solving all my problems but by drawing each and every soul to His presence.

In my brokenness, He reveals himself. And it is here, in this place, that He will use me. He doesn’t make the brokenness go away, He transforms it and makes it His.

Many of you will recognize the above title from a fairly new worship song by Hillsong. It’s one of my favorites. So I’ll close with this video. May we each find refuge in the shadow of His wings. May be revived in His story. And may we watch with wonder as He brings the ruins to life.

If you’ve read my blog at all this week, you know that I have had the opportunity to post on a devotional site encouraging.com

Well today is my final post on this site. YOu can also find my posts for Wednesday & thursday which I didn’t have time to post as we spent some great time with family.

Here’s a little bit of what I said,

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28

Over the past 4 years my husband and I have heard a variety of responses to our struggle first with infertility and then during our wait for an adoption. Some have bordered on awkward as individuals gave all too detailed advice to aid us in our quest. Some unintentionally disregarded our reality with comments like, “Don’t worry, God’s plan is better in the end,” or “Aren’t you glad you haven’t miscarried,” or even “You’re young, don’t worry about it.”

Mostly, in the midst of our most painful moments, we have been blessed with friends who have met us in our suffering and then pointed us forward. Not by denying our grief or our pain, but by exalting God.

During one of our recent disappointments I let some individuals close to us know that it had not worked out.

Recently I was asked to join a team of women writing for a website called Encouraging.com. This week is my first week of posts, so I thought I would post them here. In a post entitled, “He is Good,” this is what I write…

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. 2 Corinthians 12:9

Even before my husband and I decided to start our family, I knew that not having a child would be painful. However, I didn’t know that this pain was going to challenge my view of self.

And I didn’t know that giving this pain to God to be used for his purposes would require heart-wrenching sacrifice. But for the past 4 years, this has been my journey and this is where I have begun to find God in the pain, in the sacrifice, in my own weakness. And as I write for the first time for encouraging.com, I thought this was a good place to start.

One day a few years ago, I faced that all-too-familiar disappointing news… I was not pregnant…